


Out of Body

by 1treehill



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 14:36:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20360152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1treehill/pseuds/1treehill
Summary: Panic, fear, loneliness.





	Out of Body

The first time Holden Ford woke up, he found himself on a moving gurney. He had an oxygen mask over his face and all he saw was the dirty ceiling tiles flying past. He still couldn’t breathe, couldn’t calm down. Was this what a heart attack felt like?

The second time Holden woke up, he was in a hospital bed with faces hovering over him, distorted and frighteningly unconcerned. He could breathe a bit easier with the oxygen, but he didn’t feel any less terrified. The lights above him were too bright and he couldn’t feel his own body. He squeezed his hands into fists and dug his fingernails into his palms, yet didn’t feel a thing.

Holden couldn’t stop struggling, as if he had no control over his own movements. Before long, a nurse wielding a hypodermic needle approached and then he faded.

Next came flashes— faces, shouting, fear, confusion.

The third time Holden woke up, he realized he was dressed in nothing but a gown. He felt heavy and drowsy yet still frightened. He tried to talk, but nothing came out. The room was empty and he didn’t know where he was. Fortunately, whatever was making him sleepy also dulled his anxiety and soon he fell into darkness again.

The fourth time he woke up, he was tied to the bed. He moved his limbs, attempting to free himself in horror. Why was he strapped legs and arms to the bed? He hadn’t done anything, wasn’t a danger to others. He began to hyperventilate, panicking at this new situation.

Suddenly nurses and orderlies surrounded him and a male voice told him that if he breathed slowly and calmed down, they would untie him. This time, somehow he managed to slow his breaths. What followed wasn’t necessarily calm, but was better than before.

True to his word, the orderly released Holden’s wrists and ankles from the restraints.

“Where am I?” Holden asked.

A nurse answered, “You’re at California Medical in Vacaville. You’re okay.”

Memory came flooding back. Kemper. The OPR. Bill, Wendy, Gregg. Debbie. The fear threatened to return, but he concentrated on breathing deeply and slowly, and he began to feel his body again, could feel the cool air blowing across his skin.

The doctor arrived next, not meeting Holden’s eyes. The man looked overworked and distant.

“Mr. Ford, is there someone you can call to pick you up?”

Holden replied, “Pick me up? I can go?”

“Yes. The sooner, the better. We’ll take you to a phone. I’ll give you another dose of the anti-anxiety meds we gave you earlier and you should be good to go,” the doctor said in a monotone voice.

Then Holden was alone again. Who could he call? He considered Debbie, but instantly remembered the look on her face when he last saw her. When they broke up. When he profiled her and realized she was breaking up with him. No, he could’t call Debbie.

Bill was Holden’s next choice. But he imagined what Bill would say if he told him what he’d done, that he came to visit Kemper by himself. Would Bill even come get him? Would he simply hang up in disgust and let Holden get home himself? Holden’s vision blurred and only then did he realize he was crying.

My God, what was happening to him? He roughly wiped the tears from his face and tried to get himself under control. Who could he call? Not his parents. Never his parents. They wouldn’t understand, couldn’t help him. Not Wendy and her curled lip of contempt. No, that wasn’t fair. She had every reason to be disgusted with him.

Without finding an answer, Holden surprised himself by falling asleep. He dreamt of Kemper’s arms wrapped around his body, squeezing gently. It wasn’t even a nightmare. Kemper didn’t strangle him. He just kept hugging him, and it was difficult to breathe.

Later Holden was wheeled over to a phone and he unthinkingly dialed Bill’s office number. He didn’t know what he was going to say. All he got out was “Bill—“ And he was met with an angry demand to know where he was. That made the whole thing easier, in a way. He told Bill what happened and that he needed someone to get him out of the hospital.

Bill wasn’t happy about it, of course. He had to immediately fly across the country to get his errant partner out of the psych ward. He cursed and then hung up. Holden could only assume Bill was on his way.

His waiting time was spent sleeping and waking, over and over again. They were constantly drugging him, sometimes with the anti-anxiety medication, sometimes with something stronger. He didn’t mind because it didn’t allow much thought. Only sleep and wooziness.

But just before Bill arrived, they cut him off, suddenly. He went from pleasantly drowsy to completely awake within a half hour. The breathing difficulties or whatever it was, heart palpitations maybe, were just within reach. He could sense it hovering right around the corner and it made him feel anxious, near paralyzed. He lay in the bed, unable to move.

Bill arrived with a look of irritation and a few mocking words. The doctor told them what was wrong with him. “Panic disorder.” Now Holden had an official name for what he was suffering from. Panic disorder. And it sounded so unmanly, so mundane. So, he had just panicked? Kemper hugged him and he panicked himself into the hospital. He panicked, and they tied him to the bed and drugged him. No wonder Bill seemed so angry and disgusted. Bill’s behavior reminded Holden of his father, which was an unpleasant association.

Bill brought an ugly blue shirt for Holden to wear. He changed carefully, still getting used to being able to feel his limbs again. But he dressed quickly, knowing Bill was fuming literally and figuratively outside the bathroom.

In the hallway, on their way out, Holden felt the panic coming back in waves. His breath grew short and he felt dizzy. His body wanted to lie down on the floor and give up. He told Bill, “Wait.” He stopped to try to breathe. Bill told him to get himself together and pushed him along down the hallway.

The drive to the airport was long and quiet. Bill seemed preoccupied and annoyed. Holden wanted to get past this awkwardness, but wasn’t sure what to do.

“Bill, I’m sorry you had to come out here for me,” Holden said.

“Are you? Really?” Bill asked between drags on his cigarette.

“Yes, I truly am. I’ll pay you back for the plane ticket,” Holden said.

Bill scoffed, then said, “Don’t do me any favors, Holden. What the hell were you thinking, going to see Kemper? Are you nuts?”

Holden swallowed and answered, “Maybe I am. Kemper tried to kill himself. I mean, I think he faked a suicide attempt to get me there. Yes, I fell for it. No, I don’t know why I went there by myself. I didn’t think about it. I had nowhere else to go.”

“Oh, so you pissed off everybody at work and ran to a killer for solace? What happened to Debbie?” Bill said.

“We broke up,” Holden said quietly.

Bill finally looked over at him. “That explains some things at least,” he said. “But doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell anybody, like me.”

“Bill, I didn’t think it mattered to you what happens to me,” Holden said snippily and instantly regretted it.

“You self-pitying asshole. You should have told me regardless of whether I care about you. It’s just a matter of courtesy to let your partner know your whereabouts if you’re not going to show at work.”

Holden felt his stomach sink. So Bill was only angry because Holden was a thoughtless partner. Holden felt more alone than he’d ever felt before. Self-pitying indeed. Maybe he didn’t have a friend in the world. His chest felt tight, like he couldn’t breathe. “Great. Here comes my panic disorder,” he thought to himself.

Holden felt into his pants pocket for the bottle of Valium. Mother’s little helper. He could hold off taking one. This would pass. He tried to breathe slowly and deeply. But his chest wouldn’t let him. He couldn’t have a panic attack in front of Bill. The man already thought he was weak.

He closed his eyes and continued to roll the pill bottle in his hand. He could already sense the feeling leaving his skin and nerve endings. Soon he wouldn’t have a body anymore and would be forced to show all his insides to Bill. He couldn’t do that.

Suddenly he pulled the bottle out, and with badly shaking hands, managed to get a pill out. He popped the little pill in his mouth, hoping that it would be fast-acting.

Bill simply watched Holden’s actions in silence. After a few minutes, Holden realized to his chagrin that a pill couldn’t compare to a hypodermic shot. His panic was increasing.

“Bill, can we stop for a second?” Holden asked with a quivering voice.

“No, we can’t. I’m not missing our flight because you’re having a fit. Just relax and give me a break,” Bill said huskily.

“Bill, I really need you to stop. Please,” Holden begged.

“I said no. Get yourself together and let that pill do its job,” Bill replied.

Holden tried to count— inhale, one, two, three, hold it, two, three, exhale, one, two, three. But it wasn’t working. His vision was getting blurry, grainy, and he heard himself exhaling in a sob.

“Bill, fucking pull over now!” Holden shouted as loud as he could.

Bill stared at Holden in shock, and then pulled over to the shoulder of the road.

“Satisfied?” Bill asked angrily once the car came to a full stop.

Holden opened the door and stumbled out. He made it about five feet before he retched into the dirt and grass. Nothing came up as the hospital hadn’t fed him all day. “Nothing but the one thing that could help me, the Valium,” Holden thought. And then it all seemed too much for him.

His retching turned into loud sobs. Holden knew he was putting on a display, one that his father would have beat him for, and one that he was sure was embarrassing and pissing off Bill. What kind of man was he? Kemper’s arms were around him again, gently squeezing, pushing all the air out of his lungs. He couldn’t feel his body. Was he dying? No, it was just a panic disorder. No one was worried about him. He should be able to handle this himself.

But the sobbing continued. He was alone. Debbie had left him. Bill was maybe never his friend. Wendy and Gregg were nothing more than coworkers who barely put up with him. He was most likely out of a job.

Holden almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand rubbing his back gently.

“Hey, just breathe, Holden,” Bill said with his deep voice. It was calming, just enough so Holden could get one breath of air. He gulped the sweet oxygen. The rubbing continued, small circles on his upper back. Another breath, then another, slower, deeper.

The sobs tapered off after a while. Soon Holden was breathing normally again. He was overwhelmed with embarrassment and turned his head to apologize to Bill.

“Come on. We’ll stop somewhere to get some water for you. Hurry up. We don’t want to be late getting back to the office,” Bill said gently.

“Okay, Bill,” Holden said, as he shakily got to his feet, wiped his hands on his pants, and walked towards the car and his future.


End file.
